


The True Measure of Our Thanksgiving

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Series: Holidays with the Stilinski-Hales [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Outing, Alive Hales, Asshole Hales, College Student Stiles, Derek Likes to Cook, Except for Cora, Homophobic Hales, Human AU, Laura uses bad words, M/M, Thanksgiving story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: Derek loves cooking food, and his cousin's birthday happens to be on Thanksgiving this year. Too bad his boyfriend who doesn't believe in celebrating thinks it's all an elaborate ruse to let the Hales off the hook for wanting turkey this day. Turns out, that's not the worst thing that could happen.---As always, read the tags.





	The True Measure of Our Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a W.T. Purkiser quote.
> 
> (I liked the way it sounded.)
> 
> If you think I missed a tag, let me know. Thanks.
> 
> Unbeta-ed. I will look at it again soon. Thanks.

* * *

Derek shoved the door open with his shoulder, grunting in greeting at the pair of sneakers sitting on his coffee table. Attached to the sneakers was a pair of jean-clad legs.

The owner of the legs and sneakers grunted back at him.

“Want to help?” Derek called over his shoulder as he set the bags of groceries onto the counter. He flipped the oven on to preheat and grabbed a large bowl to set the turkey in. It would take about two hours total to dress and stuff it and cook it. In the mean time, potatoes needed to be boiled and mashed, pies needed to be prepared, green beans and corn needed to be turned into a casserole. It was a bit much for one person to do, and Derek would greatly welcome any help from jeans-and-sneakers, better known as Derek’s boyfriend Stiles Stilinski.

“Nah,” Stiles said even though he stopped reading his psychology textbook when Derek had returned from his last-minute run to the grocery store.

“Come on, you know you love it when I cook.”

“I do,” Stiles admitted. “Just not when you do it to celebrate the systematic destruction of a native people.”

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not why I’m cooking today.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said derisively, rolling his eyes too. “Your thinly veiled excuse of it being your cousin’s birthday.”

“It is,” Derek said. “I’ve told you. My cousin Malia is turning twenty-five this year. We’re doing the main course food because everyone else can only do simple dishes or desserts.”

“And you guys just happened to be celebrating her birthday on Thanksgiving.”

Derek slammed his hand on the counter. This was an old argument and one he was tired of. “Stiles, Thanksgiving is the _only_ day off that we get that is close to her birthday. This year just happens to be the exact date. We’re not trying to oppress or devalue anyone.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah right.”

“You know what? That’s it. You’re uninvited to her party.”

Derek turned back to his food prep, throwing his whole body into ignoring Stiles.

Finally though, he was just waiting on the turkey and the drippings to use for the gravy. Stiles was still sitting on the couch, his homework stacked neatly beside him.

Derek glared at him. “What are you still doing here?” he demanded. “You’re not invited, remember? Go on, get. They’ll be here any minute.”

“You’re kicking me out?” Stiles said, incredulity in his voice. Derek nodded. “Why? What did I do?”

“You refused to listen to logic,” Derek said. “You continued arguing long after I conceded your point and explained mine. It really is my cousin’s birthday and I am hosting the party here this year. I told you that you were uninvited. If you’d listened to me instead of pushing your agenda, you would have realized that rescinding the invitation means you have to find your own accommodations for the day.”

“You can’t kick me out,” Stiles said. “Seriously, Derek? What the fuck crawled up your butt and died?”

“You did! You’re not listening to me at all.”

Stiles’ rebuttal was interrupted by the oven timer going off, and Derek turned his back on him while he looked the turkey over.

By the time he had the gravy started and the turkey resting, Stiles had claimed his stool.

“So, you think I’m not listening to you when you keep making the same lame excuse of why you have to celebrate this fucked up holiday.”

Derek stomped away from him, heading for the guest room neither of them used. Stiles scrambled after him.

Inside the door, Derek pointed at the large box wrapped in polka dot paper. “A new home spa,” he said. “You helped me pick it out.”

“Seriously? I thought that was an early Christmas present.”

Derek bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood. “You know my family doesn’t celebrate Christmas,” he said.

“You just say that so you can—”

“Think very carefully about what you’re about to say,” Derek warned him. “If it’s anything other than an apology for how you’re acting right now, then you can leave.”

“Excuse you?”

“You heard me,” Derek said. He went back to the kitchen and threw away the burned gravy, starting a fresh batch. Stiles stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“What?” Derek demanded after a few minutes of unsettling quiet.

Stiles shrugged. “You just told me to get out.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you don’t mean it, do you?”

“Do you plan to apologize?”

“For what?”

Derek shook his head. “Never mind. Just go. I don’t think I can deal with you and your comments.”

“What comments?”

“Seriously? You’ve been accusing me of using my cousin’s birthday as some kind of scheme to celebrate Thanksgiving. You refuse to believe anything I tell you, like about the present or about the fact that this is the only day that everyone has off.”

Stiles opened his mouth, and Derek lifted his hand to stop him. “No, I don’t want to hear it. If you don’t mind, you still need to put away your books before my family gets here.”

“Fine, but I’m not leaving the apartment.”

“And why not? Can’t you just go visit your dad or something?”

Stiles sniffed. “Now who’s not listening? My dad is celebrating the hell-holiday. Along with Scott and his mom. That means I have nowhere to go right now.”

“You never said that,” Derek said. “You were too busy lecturing me about my Thanksgiving to say that. By the way, why didn’t you lecture them as much as you did me?”

Stiles shrugged. “We live together.” He paused. “And they never listen to me anyway.” He blinked, rubbing at his eyes, but Derek still saw the tears there. “I thought we could spend it by ourselves this year,” he muttered. “You know, no one but us. No obligation to cook a mountain of food that we’ll be sick of before the day’s through. I could maybe propose, and we could watch your favorite show.”

“Propose?” Derek tilted his head, studying Stiles. “Why do you want to propose? Today, of all days?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles refused to look up, and Derek could see the blush staining his face red. “I just…I don’t know. I guess I thought that was the next step in our relationship.”

“And you thought arguing with me about my cousin’s birthday was the way to set it up?”

“No,” Stiles said. “I kept pushing it because you wouldn’t back down on us hosting. I may not believe in celebrating Thanksgiving, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend it with you.”

The doorbell rang, and Derek sighed. Of course, they always had the worst luck. Just when they were making a breakthrough in their relationship, which Derek knew wasn’t quite marriage-ready, but that was a discussion for another time, they were interrupted.

“Truce?” Derek asked.

“Truce,” Stiles accepted.

“Go, put your books away. We’re going to be eating in a few minutes.”

“Derek, be honest, do you think we’re going to be married?”

“Married?” Derek repeated, wondering how he could answer that without hurting Stiles. “Eventually, maybe,” he finally settled on. As expected, Stiles’ face fell, disappointment and hurt flashing in equal measures. “It’s not that we won’t ever be married,” Derek added. “It’s just that we’re not there yet.”

The doorbell rang again, and Stiles nodded sharply, grabbed his books, and marched to their bedroom.

Derek sighed and threw open the door.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Laura grinned and shoved him back.

Cora was next, and she stood on tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t listen to Laura. She’s just mad because her boo had to work today.”

Derek smiled internally because as much as Laura loved her husband, he wasn’t to everyone’s liking. He always tried to pick a fight with Derek over the smallest things even though Derek refused to engage him.

Mom, Dad, and Uncle Peter were next with Malia and her girlfriend following closely.

Everyone except Malia was carrying something, whether it was a wrapped gift or another food dish to add to Derek’s stash in the kitchen.

“Wash up,” Mom directed. “We’ll be ready to eat soon.”

“Where’s your fucking faggot, Derek?” Laura asked, laughing loudly. Of course they would start that not even five minutes through the door. Derek didn’t know why he put up with them aside from the fact that most of them were able to control themselves. Laura and her husband were the main instigators. Derek thought Mom and Dad were happy to pretend that Stiles was just a really good friend, and Derek had given up on correcting them.

 “Stiles is just,” Derek began only to trail off as Stiles himself marched up to Laura. “There.”

“What did you call me?” Stiles asked, his voice low, dangerous.

“A fucking faggot,” Laura repeated, leaning closer.

“Laura, really,” Mom said. “Must you do this every time you see Derek’s…significant other?”

“Why do you always have a problem with me and not Heather?” Stiles demanded.

“What’s wrong with Heather?” Mom asked, looking at Malia’s girlfriend. She didn’t know, Derek thought helplessly. She hadn’t known that Malia was dating a woman. Stiles had just outed her to them.

That was just horrible. A terrible thing to do to someone. Derek would know. Cora had accidentally outed him when he was a senior in high school. She’d more than apologized and had become their biggest supporter.

“Leave it, Mom,” she said now. “We’re here to celebrate Malia’s birthday, not anything else. What they do privately is none of our business.”

“But it is my business,” Mom said. “I should know these things so I can tell you if you can reveal them or not.”

“Newsflash, Mom, not your choice.”

It devolved quickly into a shouting match between Mom, Dad, and Laura and Stiles and Cora. Malia sank onto the couch, Heather holding her hands. Peter looked from one group to the other before making his way to the couch, a dark look on his face. Derek intercepted him, shoving him back. Over his shoulder, Peter yelled, “You’re not my daughter!”

“Get out before I call the cops,” Stiles threatened. Peter sneered in his face before Cora managed to drag him away and shove him out the door. She did the same to Laura, who was laughing too hard to shout more insults. Mom and Dad left under their own power, but at the door, Mom turned back.

“I hope you know how disappointed I am in all of you,” she said.

“The feeling’s mutual, Mom,” Cora said, slamming the door in her face. She threw the deadbolt before joining the rest of them at the couch.

They sat in silence for a few awkward minutes, listening as the various cars the Hales had arrived in departed.

Finally, Derek lifted his head. “I’m sorry,” he said to the group. “I know that wasn’t what any of us wanted.”

“It’s fine,” Malia said, but she held Heather’s hand in a death grip.

“You know what we need?” Cora asked. “Wine. Stiles, do you have any?”

“White or red?”

“Red would go well with the turkey,” Derek said. “I think we have a few bottles of Pinot Noir in the cabinet.”

While Stiles grabbed the bottles and glasses, Derek set the table. With less people, there was more room for all the food. He only grabbed the brownies Heather had been carrying, leaving the rest of the Hale food in the kitchen.

“Wise choice.” Cora nodded.

Soon, they were seated, each with a glass. Malia raised hers. “A toast,” she said. “To the best part of the family—the ones you choose.”

“Hear hear,” Cora cheered. “And thanks for letting me be here. It’s an honor to be amongst people who care about more than image.”

They all drank deeply.

Derek passed the carving knife and fork to Cora and started handing the other dishes around the table.

“I’m sorry we outed you,” Stiles said, offering more wine. Malia declined while Heather grabbed the bottle from him.

“It’s okay. The rest of the family is uncool,” Malia said. “I’m glad for one thing though.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek asked.

Malia grinned. “I don’t have to invite them to our wedding now.”

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said. “That means we don’t have to invite them either.”

“We’re not getting married, Stiles,” Derek said, hoping that it didn’t turn into another fight like earlier.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I know. But when I ask you, and you say yes, we won’t have to deal with your mother.”

“True,” Derek agreed. “And it might not be so far off that we won’t be ready soon.”

“Really? Cool!”

“Indeed,” Cora said, raising her glass again. “To family that matters, family that ties, and family that is modern.”

“You watch too much TV,” Malia said, clinking her glass with Cora’s, “but a rousing speech nonetheless. To family.”

“To family,” everyone repeated.

“To family,” Derek said, again, softer, looking to Stiles. “To our family.”

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> Part One of a new series!
> 
> Also on [Tumblr](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/post/167795456140/the-true-measure-of-our-thanksgiving-teen-wolf) too.


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